Flashes of Memory
by VioletzeEcoFreak
Summary: Scenes and bits of story that did not make the cut into "What the Mind Forgets", but could not be left forgotten by the wayside.
1. The Church

**Notes:** I hate putting notes at the top... Regardless, happy readers, this fic is special in that you will need to read _What the Mind Forgets_ to make sense of the scenes in this fic. And while you're reading my stuff, try _Lonely_ and _Call and Response_, too? They have nothing to do with this fic, but they don't get a lot of love (because they're weird kink meme fills, whereas this is a normal kink meme fill) and I'm rather fond of them.

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><p>Ukraine knelt near the back of the church, the long pew empty but for her. She bowed her head and crossed herself thrice and murmured old, familiar prayers. It had been a while, even by nation standards, since she had stepped into a church outside of the Easter Service and a handful of ceremonies. But the wafting scent of incense and the colourful icons soothed her and reminded her of home, even while tucked away in a quiet Ottawa suburb.<p>

She recited the old familiar prayers of her childhood and adolescence, but her mind anxiously fluttered towards Canada, lying comatose in a hospital bed. She curled her fingers ever tighter, trying to hold back her imagined wishes, to touch and cure the bruises and cuts and damage on Canada's face. Her frantic mind conjured up pictures of Canada, moments before and after her was struck by a bus, fabricated from the patchy accounts she had heard of the accident.

And before she could silence her fretful, dreadful imaginings with the rhythm and cadence of memorised prayers she was already considering the terrible implications of a nation's functional immortality. What if Canada slept on, oblivious to the world and his loved ones, forever? Never recovering from the sleep that held his mind captive, would his people fall into a drowsy stupor as well? Even worse, what if they continued on, oblivious that the heart and soul of their nation lay in a perfected sleep.

Ukraine could not hold back the small, ragged sob that shook her shoulders. She tried to hold back the second trembling crying that threatened to burst free of her throat, and she choked on it painfully. She let go of the tight reign she held on her emotions and let the tears flow freely down her cheeks.

A gentle hand on her shoulder broke her from her dreadful imaginings. The priest sat on the pew next to her and wordlessly prompted her to sit alongside him. When he asked her what was troubling her, his accent was so heavy and familiar that her heart leapt in joy at the chance to speak her first language again.

"_Someone I love dearly has been hurt greatly, and he is needed by many people, like his family,"_ she explained vaguely. She wanted to be clear about her troubles, but Canada's privacy was also something she had to be concerned about. _"And his recovery is uncertain."_

"_Do you trust that he is a part of a greater plan?"_ the priest replied, his Ukrainian bright and precise.

"_Even if he failed to recover as part of a greater plan, I would be in mourning, not singing in joy,"_ Ukraine answered.

"_It is only human to want those you love to stay by your side,"_ the priest offered. _"And there is no shame in mourning the loss of a loved one. But have faith that should he recover, it is the work of God, and should he not there will be something greater and brighter in the future. It is a weak tonic to your woes, I know,"_ he added. _"But you must find your own peace."_

"_Thank you,"_ Ukraine said, bowing her head briefly in polite acknowledgement. She stood and shook the priest's offered hand, and left feeling both heavier and freer than she had when she entered.

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><p><strong>Notes:<strong> So why didn't this chapter make the cut? I originally wanted to have this scene in when I was planning the fic, but when I was writing I realised that it really broke the flow and focus of the story. This scene would've been placed before Matthew apologises to Ukraine when he's first awake, and it really would've been a shift in gear too dramatic to work, seeing as nearly every other chapter has Matthew in the room, at least. Opinions?


	2. Do You Love Me?

Matthew lay sleeping a great deal of the time, when he wasn't making an effort to eat (many times he simply could not stay awake long enough to finish his meal, and so he stayed on an IV drip) or attempting what stood as a conversation for him. They were short, generally a brief period of answering Matthew's handful of questions and then helping him slip back into bed properly without jarring his cast or his IV drip. But the sheer unpredictability of his head injury meant that Matthew could occasionally appear to be incredibly lucid.

Nighttime was approaching and France sat quietly in the chair set next to the hospital bed. He was reading a book very quietly, trying to lose himself in the world this new author was creating. He couldn't pay attention to the words, though, and placed the book on his lap, neatly closed. Matthew's eyes were open.

"_Papa,"_ he said in his raspy, unused voice. _"Do you love me?"_

France started at the question. The harshness of Matthew's voice, combined with the rough and ancient accent in his French, left the question difficult to decipher. He replied shakily, _"Of course I love you. You are my son and all papas love their sons."_

"_But you leave me at night,"_ Matthew murmured. There was a childish, harmless quality to his words that kept France from being alarmed by the accidental innuendo presented.

"_I must keep Alfred and Arthur and Mme. Katya healthy, and that means taking them home to sleep,"_ France answered. He reached for Matthew and brushed away some of his unkempt hair.

"_But you said that night-time is for sharing with people you love,"_ Matthew answered.

"_Ah,"_ France murmured. _"But what about people who need to be loved and looked after? Your family and friends are looking after you because we love you, but who is looking after them?"_

"_So you leave me because other people need to be looked after?"_

"_Yes, but that does not mean I don't love you,"_ France answered. _"Just that other people need to be loved, too. I might need to go so and give my love to other people far away from here, too. Is that all right?"_

"_Oh, alright. After all, Papa loves sharing love with everyone." _Matthew yawned and his eyes drooped and when France looked at his watch he knew it was time to find Ukraine and convince her to take a rest. But he paused and kissed Matthew's sticky forehead and wished him the sweetest dreams he could before he left the room.

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><p><strong>Notes:<strong> So why not this chapter? I wanted to add it, I sincerely did. The problem was that it suspended _my_ belief way too much. Regardless of temporary bouts of lucidity (a real thing in recovering TBI patients, but not to this extent), the chances of Matthew having a conversation this complex, with moments of recalling childhood words thrown in, didn't work. If I saw it in someone else's story I would've told them to pull the other one, so it got snipped from mine. By the time Matthew was capable of having conversations like this, he was doing physical therapy and France was long gone.


	3. Remember

Matthew went to sleep.

-.-

_Matthew is __big__. He's always been tall but now he is vast, so much more than almost anyone he knows, and this is okay because his friends love him despite his bigness and he worked hard to get so big and strong._

_There is a noise, filling the air and Matthew's chest and rushing through his blood and the noise __is__ his blood, racing through his vast body and connecting sleepy, empty spans of his mind. He struggles to understand the noise, but when Matthew turns his attention inwards he finds that his heart is still and silent. He is not dead, so he must be okay with a silent heart and great noise rushing through his veins. _

_The great noise fades away when Matthew looks outwards and sees so much, all at once. He sees all The World gathered in a room, and since he is there he must be part of The World as well. There is noise here as well and Matthew stays silent, uncertain what to do when Alfred argues with Russia or Papa and Father bicker with each other or the rest of The World._

_And then Matthew isn't in a room with The World any longer. He is in his early teens and receiving the gift of responsible government; and he's just becoming an adult, thin and tired from the poor economy; and he's a baby crossing the Artic tundra with a polar bear cub at his side; and he is kissing Katya for the first time on a little island with red roads._

_Matthew realises that he is __old__, so much older than his face would imply. And if he's older than any other man that ever lived but has a young face he cannot be normal. He is not normal. His heart starts suddenly and the cacophony of thirty million pulses beating in unison horrifies him until he realises he knows this sound, and the sound of his people living and being under his skin, their lives rushing through his veins as a lifeblood._

_Matthew's spine is a mountain chain and veins of gold are in his shoulders. He is geography, an idea made flesh, an identity held by millions and he does not belong to himself. Matthew is immortal and a nation._

_-.-_

Canada woke up.

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><p><strong>Notes:<strong> So why did this one not make it? I'm rather fond of it, but I wanted to preserve the impact of Matthew remembering his identity and spring it on the audience just as suddenly as Ukraine experienced it. That means revealing them in the same chapter/section/thing. Plus, I prefer the understated use of his unfortunate catch phrase to the overwritten bits of memory here.


End file.
